The Donna That Never Was
by TheRangress
Summary: That spaceman had inspired her, and when the Toclafane came, Donna Noble started a rebellion.


"General, ma'am!" The dark, curly-haired young man jumped over an old sofa to follow a woman through the abandoned house. She wore a black leather jacket, chin-length auburn hair, and an air of authority. He wore a slightly worn suit without a jacket, and glasses.

"Yes, Glasses?" she snapped in exasperation, opening a trap-door in the ceiling. The hallway looked perfectly average, minus the peeling blue wallpaper.

"Melanie's missing," he said nervously.

The woman paused the midst of pulling down a ladder. "How long?"

"About an hour now?"

"Flipping _hell_." The woman sighed and started up the ladder. "Get as many people on guard as we can. If that fool woman's done what I think she did..." Glasses followed his general up the ladder. The attic was damp and full of chests and boxes. There were a few beams of light, filled with dust, but most of the windows were bricked up.

"What do you think she did, general ma'am?"

"I told you: Ms. Noble." Donna Noble opened a chest and tossed some blankets at him. "Get on your way, Glasses. If Melanie's done what I think she's done..."

"What do you think she's done?" Glasses asked, poking his head out from behind the blankets Donna was stacking in his arms.

"Saxon's offered amnesty to traitors," she said, her tone implying he was a complete idiot. "And you know how Mel is."

"Oh dear," Glasses agreed. He dropped the blankets down the trap door and let Donna down first.

"Yep." She hopped down, stepped off the blankets, and waited for Glasses. "So, will you _go_?"

"Oh, yes general ma'am!" Glasses slowly descended the ladder and then scampered off.

Donna sighed, picked up the blanket, and headed down the hall. She turned into a small room. The windows were bricked up, and it was lit by only a single torch. There were three children in it under the age of fourteen— Nena was four, honey-haired with a burned hand. Saskia was eight, dark-haired and very intent on growing up to be like 'General Noble'. Myron was thirteen, curly-haired, and liked to play the gentleman. All three of them were playing shadow puppets with Wilfred Mott, making up a story with, apparently, a dog hero. Once the dog had defeated the Toclafane, she approached Wilf.

"Grandad?" she asked, handing the blankets to the children.

"Madame General?" He was so _proud _of her. And so was Donna, because when she looked around— well, she was amounting to something, wasn't she? She still hadn't proven herself— she still had plenty of time to let everyone down. But she was doing pretty good for herself, leading her own little rebellion. About two dozen lives were in her hands, two dozen people she was taking care of.

And she was not— she was _not— _about to let Melanie hurt _her _people.

"I think Melanie defected." She kept her voice quiet, so the children wouldn't be scared. "We might have to run, and quick."

"Got it." This was normal, was it? Hiding in abandoned houses with no heat, responsible for the lives of _children_. And it was all out of her control, really, but she was in charge; so it was her fault if anything happened to any one of them.

"You all right, grandad?" she asked weakly.

"Of course I am!" He was tireless, never low on cheer, and always there. Donna felt safer just knowing she had her grandad, there like always. "What about you, Donna?"

"I'm always all right." It was a bare lie, but enough to get a smile and a pat from Wilf.

"You stay that way, all right?"

"All right," she said, smiling herself.

A bit later, Donna was beginning to feel like it was a false alarm. Better safe than sorry, though. Always, always better safe than sorry.

She was beginning to rib on Glasses a bit too, as he did his best to hammer out a way to get dinner cooked. It wasn't his fault, really. He did his best.

"Look, general ma'am, I'm tired and hungry and really want to get this done." Glasses blinked and hid behind his machinery. Getting things cooked without access to the power grid was always a struggle. Luckily, they had Glasses.

"I'm tired and hungry too, James," she said quietly. There were a couple of others sitting around— Elizabeth and Marcus playing cards, Michael humming a song— a song that had been popular once, and Donna still knew every word.

"I know you are," he said, tinkering, "I think I'll have this set up soon."

That was when the wall stopped being there. Toclafane were there before Donna could comprehend it (though she'd sprung up, a convenient frying pan in hand, on instrict).

"Get an evacuation going!" she yelled, loud as she could, as Marcus was felled. Donna managed a kill with her frying pan and a hammer as Elizabeth and Michael ran upstairs, James anxiously tinkering. "Get the hell out of here, Glasses!"

"Sorry, must disobey, general ma'am!" She managed to save his life with the frying pan, then shoved over a table for use as a shield.

"Donna!"

"What?"

"Donna! Get the hell out of here and call me Donna!" More Toclafane. Too many. Donna held her breath. So. This was it.

"I... can detonate this." She was managing with her frying pan, but the table wouldn't hold long. "It's been an honor, Donna."

She smiled at him. "So it has, James. Do it."

Her last thought was simple enough. _So I really didn't amount to anything, did I..?_


End file.
